


What's A Little Blood Between Friends?

by grahamisms



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will Graham, FTM Will Graham, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Trans Will Graham, Vampire Will Graham, bloodthirsty will graham, hannibal lecter is a bastard, italy is sexy so it's located in italy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23061901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamisms/pseuds/grahamisms
Summary: Will Graham has been a vampire for centuries and not once has found a friend to stick around—he feels like Frankenstein's monster—doomed to die alone, a hideous beast. Everything changes when, on a moonlit night, Will spots one Hannibal Lecter warming himself by a fire. Everything changes. Everything.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 104





	1. The Moth & the Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whiskeyandspite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/gifts).



> I know this is a day late, but happy birthday my lovely friend! I wanted to gift you something a little bigger than just a graphic, so I hope this work will do. I *adore* you, my lovely squish! I hope your day was wonderful.

Will Graham doesn’t like people.

They’re insufferable, horrible creatures that initially led to his undoing. He doesn’t see why he should give them a second chance. Like Frankenstein’s monster, he’s attracted to the flame, and when he sees a strange man looming over a fire late one night he cannot stop himself from looking. He considers going to him, but the coach has a driver and he doesn’t want to attract unwanted attention.

Not yet, anyways.

There is definitely something strange about the man in the suit. He has a severe look about him—something between polite and utterly bored—as he listens to the coachman drone on and on about the current political climate of Italy. Will Graham smirks, watching from the shadows, undetected.

He may have been terrible at being a person, but he’s quite wonderful at being a vampire. 

Will waits until the fire has died and the strange, suited man is asleep in the coach. The driver decided to take the first watch—one could never be too careful with revolution going on—but the driver’s problem is just that: he’s expecting militiamen or revolutionaries, not vampires.

Fog settles around the coach as the driver leans against a tree. The silver slits of moonlight illuminate him perfectly, but that won’t save him from what comes next. Will slinks behind him before turning into a shadow so dark that even the moonlight could not cast it aside. The shadow blinks forward and then Will slaps a hand over his mouth. 

“Don’t scream. I’ll make this painful for you if you scream.” There had been a time when Will Graham was merciful, but that was centuries ago. Now there is no line he will draw in the sand—any fresh supply of blood will do—and he’d be lying if he wasn’t curious about what the suited man will do without a driver. 

Perhaps he’ll go on his way. Perhaps he’ll be trapped. They’re close to the border, but there’s no telling what lies ahead.

The driver struggles, flails his fists wildly, but by the time he’s making contact with Will’s head, Will has already sank his fangs into him. He drinks until he’s beyond full, he drinks until he can feel his deadened heart beat once more. Blood covers his mouth and throat—God, he’ll never get tired of the coppery taste. The driver lets out a muffled moan of ecstasy. Will remembers what it was like to be drunk from, Will remembers himself feeling absolutely giddy despite his own screaming. Lost in his own thoughts and with his guard completely down, he doesn’t expect to hear a few loud claps come from the coach.

Will’s head whips around and he drops the near lifeless man onto the ground with a thud.

“You put on a good show—but that—” The suited man smiles pleasantly. “Was going to be my dinner once we reached Switzerland.”


	2. The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will & Hannibal aren't as different as they appear—and that strikes a chord in Will's undead heart.

“Are you going to finish him?” The suited man’s pleasant smile is surprisingly disarming. Will wipes the half-dried blood off his mouth. It’s unlikely anyone will come down this long, forgotten road anytime soon but—but—there’s always a chance.

“And if I didn’t?” Will challenges. 

“Well, that would be wasteful, wouldn’t it?” The suited man steps off the coach. He pulls a knife from his pocket. “But if you aren’t going to end his suffering I will. It’s been some time since I last had a good meal.” 

It seems that they’re both monsters, then. 

Will tries to feign disinterest as the suited man closes the distance between them and the expiring man. “Oh—My name is Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter.” He kneels down with a grace that Will has not seen in centuries. It makes his undead heart flutter. “It would be terribly rude of you to not give a name in exchange, you know.”

“Will—” He clears his throat. “Will Graham.” 

Hannibal cuts into the body with expert precision. “You’ve drained most of his blood. Makes my job easier.” 

“...” Will stays silent. He watches as Hannibal as he removes the man’s liver. Finally, he speaks. “Are you going to cook that?” 

“Why, do you want some?” Hannibal glances over to Will. There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “If you do I will leave yours on the rare side.” Since Will did eat only moments ago, he’s capable of blushing, and he can feel the heat rise to his cheeks. Hannibal gives him a knowing look. “A meal for two, then.” 

It’s been a long time since anyone has cooked for Will. He falls silent again, trying to remember who cooked for him last, but it’s been so long he can’t remember...his sire doesn’t count, the rat bastard. Hannibal is a strange human, Will will give him that. He’s all pleasantries as he prepares the meal over the fire. He talks about the weather and the current revolution. None of it really matters to Will. He’s so far removed from it all. Finally, finally, Hannibal turns the conversation back to what Will is. Monster, monster, monster. The word rings in Will’s ears even though Hannibal is far too polite to say it. 

“Do you mind if I get personal, Mister Graham?” 

“That depends. What do you intend on asking?” Will’s response is cold. He knows what’s coming.

“I’ve never met a vampire before. Forgive me for being curious, but...is it true? Do vampires turn to ash in sunlight? If so, your woodland abode is quite disadvantageous, don’t you think?” He turns the liver stuck through a stick in an idle manner. Smoke curls around them like a blanket.

Will stares into the fire. If he were a younger man, he’d laugh. “No. We’re light sensitive—burn easily, the sunlight hurts the eyes—but we’d only turn to ash if we were starved.”

“Are you well fed, Will?” Hannibal peers at him with a curiosity that seems sincere, full of concern. It throws Will for a loop. 

“I don’t see why that matters.” Will shoots back, eyes narrowing.

“There’s no need to be so mistrustful, Will. What’s a little blood between friends?” He smiles. 

Will’s heart flutters for the second time that night. “Everything. It’s everything.” He manages to croak out. The memories—God, the memories. His sire letting Will drink from him, promising that things would be okay, promising him that he’d always be there. 

But then he wasn’t.

And then Will was not okay.

“Have I struck a nerve? I do apologize Will. I was only trying to be comforting. But, truth be told, there’s no reason for you to mistrust me—if I were to reveal your true nature, who’s to say you wouldn’t reveal mine?”

He has a point.

“I live on a razor’s edge.” He admits softly, barely above a whisper. “But I live.”

“Do you?”

He did not. There’s something about those friendly, sympathetic eyes that simply does him in. 

If Will Graham could cry he would.


	3. Three's A Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Lecter forces Will's hand—and Will thinks he might like that.

Will Graham did not think he would agree to be Hannibal’s driver, but honestly? It didn’t take much convincing. Hannibal needs him, he’s offering Will a large sum of coin to be discreet, and he even helps Will drag the body into the woods. ( Not that he needs the help, superhuman strength and all. ) Will swears up and down that he doesn’t like Hannibal, but for some reason he can’t find it in his undead heart to say no. 

Even Will can admit it would be disappointing if the militiamen captured such an interesting man.

They travel during the night and stay put during the day, if only because Will curtails the trip to his own needs. He prefers the nighttime. Sun hurts his eyes. Hannibal never once complains, much to Will’s surprise.

It’s on their third day of travel that they arrive at the border. Men with muskets are guarding the road. One raises his hand for Will to stop. Will pulls the horse to a halt, eyes narrowing. “Is there a problem?” Brusqueness probably isn’t the best trait to show. The militiamen eye him with suspicion.

“Who’s in the carriage?” A man with a thick, unruly beard speaks. 

“A doctor.” Will responds blunt as ever.

“Well you’ll have to be more specific than that.” 

“His name is Dr. Fell.” The alias rolls off his tongue easily. Will is a good liar, if only because he needs to be.

“And your name?” 

“Lloyd Sherman.” He comes up with his own alias on the fly. He is supposed to be dead, after all.

The militiamen look at each other. The bearded man shrugs his shoulders. “Going to have to check your carriage. You understand, I’m sure.”

Will knows that if Hannibal’s face is revealed it’ll blow his cover. “I don’t, actually. Dr. Fell has patients to attend to across the border. You’re wasting his time.” He doesn’t know why he’s playing along so well. He hates this. Hates having to be the face of the operation.   
“Is there going to be a problem, Mr. Sherman?” A clean shaven man with severe blue eyes pipes in, tone far more accusatory than what Will would like it to be.

“Let us through. We don’t want any trouble.” Will’s eyes narrow as the bearded man slowly raises his musket and points it at Will’s chest.

“There will be no need for violence, gentlemen.” Hannibal’s smooth, dulcet tone makes a shiver run down Will’s spine. He opens the carriage’s door and steps out, hands clasping together. “Truth be told, neither of us have been honest.” 

Hannibal is forcing Will’s hand. All three men point their muskets at Hannibal.

Will doesn’t give them a chance to pull the triggers.

With speed unmatched Will is sailing off the coach and tackles the man with the blue eyes. A panic ensues when he rips the man’s throat out, blood gushing as the man gurgles his own blood. Fangs on full display, Will’s deep brown eyes are alight with a feral energy as he digs his nails into the man’s abdomen. He flings the dying man into the other two militiamen, knocking one over and throwing the other off balance. He can feel Hannibal’s eyes on him as he lunges forward.

If Hannibal wants a show, he’ll get a show. “Vampire!” The bearded man stutters out. All courage leaves him and he bolts. He doesn’t see it happen, but he certainly hears a shot go off. The running man falls to the ground when the bullet pierces his lung. Will didn’t expect a doctor to be packing heat, but if anything he’s quickly learning that Hannibal Lecter is full of surprises. 

Will turns his attention to the man that’s struggling to get up, musket in hand as he fires off a round. It hits Will in the shoulder and he lets out a loud hiss of pain. Eyes narrow as stalks toward the scrambling man. He lifts him by the throat and crushes his windpipe with an elegant flick of his wrist. He tosses the body aside, shifting his attention to the wheezing man that had tried to run.

Hannibal is already closing the distance between himself and the last man standing. “You didn’t have to die today—if only you hadn’t caused trouble.” His tone is chastising and there’s a sway to his hips, pistol hanging loosely from his waistband. He bends down and slits the man’s throat long before the militiaman even thinks of reaching for the musket he dropped before running. Will’s nostril’s flare at the scent of blood. He’s fed recently, but that doesn’t mean the craving isn’t there. 

Hannibal gives Will a knowing smile. “It seems we’ll be eating well again tonight.”


	4. Aftercare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Lecter is determined to take care of Will Graham—even when Will threatens his life.

When Hannibal asks to see Will’s wound, Will cannot help the feral snarl that rips through his throat. “I don’t need your help.” It’s already half healed with the bullet still inside of his shoulder. Hurts like hell. But he sure as shit isn’t going to admit that to Hannibal goddamn Lecter.

“The bullet didn’t pass through.”

“Excellent observation, doctor. Such sharp eyes. Really.” 

“Will, you are being rude.” 

Will gives him a long, hard stare. “I am.” 

“Well. An acknowledgment is a start.” Hannibal sighs as if this is all very, very tiring. “You will let me see the wound.” 

“No.”

“I am not arguing with you, Will Graham.” He closes the distance between them. Will’s discomfort is palpable. He swallows thickly. Looks at Hannibal with wild, untame eyes. “Show me the wound.” 

It’s obvious that Hannibal isn’t going to let Will get away with suffering. “I could kill you.” Will threatens.

“But you won’t.” Hannibal’s answer is smooth as ice. Will hates it.

“How do you know?” 

“Because I interest you.”

“No. You don’t. You irritate me.” Will glares up at Hannibal’s amiable yet distant eyes.

“If you wanted to kill me, Will Graham, you would have ripped my throat out long before the bullet ever had a chance to pierce your flesh.” 

Hannibal presses a hand against the wound. Will hisses. It hurts. When Hannibal does not pull away, Will lets out a low groan. He isn’t going to relent, is he? “I’m only taking off the first layer.” 

“That will suffice.” Hannibal pauses, eyebrows raising. “Did I ever imply that I wanted you to strip?”  
Will blushes, silent as he peels his bloody tunic over his shoulders and above his head. His binder isn’t coming off. He doesn’t care what Hannibal thinks. Hannibal hums softly, now able to actually see the wound. He raises a finger, silently asking Will to wait, and climbs into the carriage. When he returns he’s carrying a wooden case of what Will assumes is medical instruments. When the box is opened, Will can see an array of scalpels. They glint under the light of the moon. Will’s shiver is involuntary.

Hannibal wipes down Will’s skin with a damp cloth first. “I suggest you sit down. This is going to be painful.”

“I can handle the pain.” Will doesn’t want him to think he’s weak. 

“I never said you couldn’t.” There’s a hint of amusement in the doctor’s tone. “But...have it your way.” 

Hannibal tells Will what he’s going to do before he does it. Will wonders, idly, as the scalpel slices into swollen flesh if Hannibal does this for all of his clients. It hurts, but Will is used to being hurt. This is normal. This is okay. That doesn’t stop him from grimacing. He does not bleed as much as a normal human, but red still stains the scalpel as Hannibal works. It only takes a couple minutes before Hannibal is pulling out the bullet with a pair of forceps. He holds it up for Will to look at before letting it drop to the ground.

“I would prefer to give you stitches.” 

“You saw how much it had healed over the course of a couple hours. There’s no point.”

“It will scar.”

“I have a multitude already.” 

Hannibal shakes his head, silent as he begins to clean the implements he had used moments ago to cut Will open and remove the bullet. By now, Hannibal knows better than to expect any sort of thankfulness from this resplendent creature. The resplendent creature that saved his life. The resplendent creature that he simply can’t get out of his head.


End file.
